Woke up this morning with a need to write. Woke up this morning wanting to share. But my mind is empty. Like a catacomb. Is empty and cold. Paper and pencil in front with just words here and there. Without reason or rhyme. The first is a stanza. But the second a Haiku. I want this poem to be silly. To be witty. Full of laughter and sound. But I can’t talk about Bambi without talking about a wolf . I’m Poe, Wilder and Frost. I’m Picasso and Dali. Or at least I would love to be . I can be Mozart, and Vivaldi. Botero and Bonet. Or at least I could be if given a chance. I guess I had something to say. Just needed some time I guess